The Mockingjay
by smileycindy
Summary: There were 24 on the first day. 14 on the second. Elleni faces the horrors the Games have planned for her. There will be more bloodshed than usual.  Pre-Katniss.
1. Prelude

Hi guys! This is my first fanfic, so I hope you all like it. Reviews are dearly welcomed, along with constructive criticism.

Please take some time to mail me some things I should include in the Games, such as muttations, special scenes, flora, fauna, etc.

This is just a taste of what is coming next.

_Prelude_

A young girl kneels beside a boy, a boy lying on the soft snow, eyes closed, who couldn't be much older than she is. His blood stains the crisp white floor, as the girl's screams rip from her throat, echoing through the woods. Her hands stack upon another as she places them on his chest. She presses down once, twice, three times. She stops to wipe the tears streaming down her face, smearing the dirt and the blood. Is it her blood? Is it his? She doesn't remember. She only remembers the spear piercing the boy's stomach. She leans over and listens for his breath.

"No no no, please breathe! Please come back!" She pleads. She repeats the action with her hands. Once, twice, three times. She listens again.

"Please, come back!" Something gut-wrenching inside her stomach threatens to rip through her throat. She covers her face with her bloody hands. She just wants to go home.

A blonde girl stumbles through the trees. She is tired from the constant running, but not tired enough – she fixes her eyes on the dead young boy, and then the young girl. She processes them both in her mind for a moment, and then a smirk spreads across her complexion. She begins, running, running towards the young girl.

The young girl looks up. She sees the devilish expression on the blonde girl's face, plastered on like a mask. She has no fear running through her veins. She takes one look from the boy, and then one look at the clear blue sky, and silently whispers goodbye. By now, the blonde girl was closing in, she could almost touch her.

The young girl raises her head as the blonde girl brings down her axe.


	2. Chapter 1: The boy with the leaf

Hi guys! This is the first chapter, yep, officially setting off. Please help to pick out any mistakes that I've made and offer any constructive criticism. I am also in need of ideas for scenes, flora, fauna, tribute personalities, etc. So this is a semi-SYOT.

Please enjoy!

1

I blend with the Mockingjays in the Meadow. My hands embrace the wind as I move to the slow flowing music. Someone's laughter is echoing through the woods – I realise that sound is coming from me. The music of the mockingjays flow through the forest, and I can almost make out the words.

_just close your eyes_

_the sun is going down_

_you'll be alright _

_no-one can hurt you now_

_come morning light_

_you and i'll be safe and sound_

It is a soft, gentle lullaby. A song that has since been long left behind, ever since the downfall of what existed before the uprising of Panem. A song that has since been long forgotten, until the people of District Twelve discovered it. No-one remembers how they found those music sheets. Old, dusty and frail they were, wedged, hiding somewhere in a dark alley. Like a small child, cold and scared, waiting for his mother. It is almost as if he fades away with time, until only one small part of him remains.

Something warm touches my shoulder, and it brings me back to reality. I open my eyes. The smell of freshly baked bread hits me almost instantly. I sit up from my duvan, and the book that had been lying on my stomach falls off with a soft _doof. _I look up, and Kieran's lovely face comes into view.

"Elleni, did you dose off again?" he smiles. It reminds me of a soft dandelion, blooming in the fields. A soft dandelion that reminds the people of hope. That maybe, somewhere, hope is not lost.

Kieran has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. His mother runs an apothecary down from my parents' bakery. I can still remember the first time I saw him – hiding behind his mother's back, clutching to her apron, his wide blue eyes staring warily at me. He had a small leaf in his hand. I was later told that it was a pepmint leaf, which are good for insect stings.

Kieran has always been shy – he used to be tiny and thin, and then he turned 15. I realised one day that he had grown to be almost a head taller than me.

No-one used to ever notice Kieran until he hit his growth spurt. Not only did he get taller, he also began to develop muscles. His skin tanned. His eyes seemed to glisten more. I would see girls from school whispering and pointing to him. Sometimes throwing jealous glares at me. But we were nothing more than friends. And we would never be anything more than friends.

Kieran has this typical Merchant look – beautiful blonde hair and warm blue eyes. I, however, have this Seam look, although I come from the Merchant section. Dark maroon hair and deep brown eyes.

See, District 12 is divided into two sections – the Merchant and the Seam. People living in the Merchant are a little more well-off, usually with small businesses, enough to feed themselves. On the other hand, people living in the Seam endure the hard life. When Kieran and I run errands in the Seam, we are always surprised with the amount of bony, sunken people trudging off to work or home. And everything is grey – there is always a grey sheen of dust settling on everything in the Seam.

I guess we are both decent-looking. But the most beautiful (and – am I wrong to suggest? Most _naturally _beautiful) come from District 4.

"Yeah," I give a sheepish smile. "sorry. Did you learn anything new today?"

"Yeah, my mother says that there are these berries in the woods called Nightlock. Apparently you'd be dead before you can say anything if you eat them."

"Wow, put them in the book. You wouldn't want to accidentally eat one of those." A few years back, we found this dusty leather book hidden in Kieran's attic. I dont remember who suggested it, but we put everything we learnt into that book. Sometimes we drew plants. Sometimes animals, like Mockingjays.

"Sorry, Elleni," Kieran replied, giving his head a small shake. "I've got to go and babysit Selena. Besides, the Reaping's tomorrow and she's a bit emotional." Selena is Kieran's 12-year-old sister. She's an exact copy of him – golden blonde hair and wide blue eyes. It's her first time at the Reaping tomorrow. I nod.

"Hey, I'm going too. First Reapings are always scary." Since she's Kieran's little sister, we sort of pamper her like mother birds. If there was a large crowd, she would be the one we would try to huddle close to so she wouldn't get pushed and shoved. I reminds me of a little chirpy bird, and seeing her makes me feel a little better. I treat her like my own sister.

Kieran smiles and I almost get lost again. We both make our way to the door. I turn to my father, a brooding, muscly man, and give him a nod. He turns from the fire pit and returns the nod. I open the door and we are greeted by the cold, briskly air of District 12. We trudge down the muddy road.


	3. Chapter 2: Happy Hunger Games

And the fun begins! I apologise for the how boring chapt 1 is...I needed to set a background for the Games to begin. Again, please feel free to offer general constructive criticism and praise, and happy Hunger Games!

oOo

My eyes open to the sound of the Mockingjays chirping outside my room. I grasp at that happy and peaceful moment I had during sleep, but it quickly slips away.

The Reaping happens today.

For the residents of the Capitol, they simply sit comfortable in their chairs as the Reaping airs on their high-tech televisions. The rest of us take turns to gather eagerly at the town square, waiting for one boy and girl's name to be drawn, waiting to see which unfortunate face the rest of us will never see again.

I hear a soft knock at my door. I sit up from the bed, shielding my eyes from the piercing sunlight shining through the small window perched high above my bedroom.

"Come in." I call softly. I see my mother poke her head through. Her eyes look wide and alert, like they always do before the Reaping.

"Elleni, it's time. Get ready quickly and come down for breakfast." I nod silently and she leaves the room, her soft footsteps echoing down the stairs. Her deep almond eyes almost seem red, maybe even a little bit puffy – had she been crying?

I shuffle from my small bed, stretching out my arms and legs which have been cooped up in the bed I outgrew years ago. We couldn't afford to buy me a new one. The one I have now almost cost my parents half a years' worth of their salary. I couldn't ask for more. I let out a little sigh and head to the bathroom.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I see my mother, moving as back and forth in the kitchen, her small blonde figure reminding me of a bumblebee. She and my father are polar opposites. I wonder what made them attracted to each other.

"Comes here. You can't go out looking like that today." She motions for me to sit down on the wooden chair she stands behind. Her lips form a tight line. I know she's scared. I know she's scared for me.

Once I take my seat, her fingers begin letting my messy hair loose, weaving through it and working their magic. I can't see what she is doing, but I feel my hair getting lifted and placed onto something. I tug on them, feeling the hot, and my mother gently brushes my fingers away.

"Don't look until it's done." she says, and I stop moving. She slides something in my hair. The smell gives it away and I know that they're flowers, beautiful pieces of nature.

When she is done with my hair, she pulls out a blouse from the closet. I recognise it – it's the blouse she always used to wear when I was little. It's a soft white thing, the cotton material fragile and worn.

"I found this a couple of weeks ago, would you do me the favour and wear it?" My fingers fall upon the soft blouse, tracing the stitching down the middle. "It's beautiful," I breathe. "Of course I would."

My father appears at the door, his eyes fixed upon the small white blouse.

"This is what you wore when I first saw you, wasn't it?" And at that moment I swear I could see the corners of his mouth turn up.

"Oh, _Hawk,"_ my mother breathes, a tone she only uses on my father. "You still remember that?" My father moves to the kitchen, and takes my mother's hand in his. They look into each other's eyes, as silence will speak for the words they seldom speak.

I stare at their entwined hands. I wonder what love feels like.

Others from our district have already gathered at the town square by the time we arrive. They make small talk with one another while their children wait anxiously in the middle. President Snow's voice booms in on the town square, his round face covering the most of the wide screen. Snow is a middle-aged man with dark features and a cold glare. You could never tell his real age, though. The Capitol can do wonders to a person.

"My greetings to the residents of District Twelve and welcome to the annual Reaping of the Hunger Games! I will entrust you to your District Mayor, Etain Heavensbee!"

Mayor Heavensbee is a short, stocky man with an awkwardly receding hairline. He appears from behind the curtains and wobbles to the stage. He begins rambling on the history of the Games as we assemble, with girls and boys divided by gender and age, as our parents and loved ones wait anxiously by the sides. The Districts rebelled against the Capitol a few decades ago. 13, the district who ignited the rebellion, was completely destroyed. The Games were created as a price we all had to pay. It was the Capitol's way of saying, _we take your children and we make them kill each other every single year for your ignorance. There is nothing you can do about it. _

He then continues with the traditions of the Reapings, where one boy and girl from each district gets chosen from a ballot – _reaped, _to play the Games. Even though the Games aren't really games at all. Maybe for the rich people in the Capitol, they really are, since none of their children get to _play_, but for the rest of us, it's hell. Standing in the chilling wind of your district square, praying every second for your name not to be called.

Marie Trinket steps up to the stage. Marie is this maniacally upbeat woman who escorts the tributes to the Games every year. Sending the children to the deaths didn't seem to impact her – this year, along with her chirpy orange hair, she is as excited as ever.

"Oh, I just _love _this!" she breathes. "It's time for the annual Reaping! Lets get this show on the road!" she smiles at the crowd, who is, by now, dead silent. Our silence did not impact her much, as she carried on with the routine.

"Ladies first!" Marie exclaimed. She stuck her well-manicured hand into the bowel, fished around for a moment, and scooped up a small slip of paper. She unfolds it. She smiles. She reaches for the microphone and pulls it closer to her mouth. I bite into my lip so hard I can taste the blood.

_Please don't be me. Please don't be me. Please don't be me. _Every year I have prayed for this, and every year my wish had come true. _Please, please, please._

Marie raises her voice, and sings out the name.

Except it isn't me.

"And our _lucky _tribute this year is Selena Havens!"

Something hits me so hard I almost fall over. Immediately, I look for Kieran's familiar face in the buzzing group of sixteen-year-old boys. I spot him with his blonde hair glistening in the sunlight. Only his eyes aren't. His eyes stare into the distance, so empty and hollow it sends a chill right down my spine. He looks like he could collapse any moment.

Selena, grey-faced and grim, is already getting marched up to the stage with two white-uniformed Peacekeepers by her side.

And I know what I must do.

I take one deep breath and look up to the sky. Such a warm blue, like Kieran's eyes. But I don't smile. I speak. I speak loud.

"I volunteer!"

Everyone immediately turns towards me, staring in disbelief. Twelve hasn't had a volunteer in decades. Maybe Twelve hasn't ever had a volunteer. We weren't like One or Two or Four – we weren't very much liked by the Capitol, and we weren't their lapdogs. We dreaded the Games. I marched through the crowd, who split a path before me. Even Marie seemed genuinely surprised.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the large screen next to the stage. All the cameras were on me. I see what my mother has done to my hair – they fall down in loose curls down my back and around my hair. The maroon colour almost burns in the sun, and I feel a pang of guilt. I am throwing away all the dreams that my parents have bestowed upon me. I'm not strong. I'm not smart. I can't win by brutality nor by outsmarting the others. I am meeting my almost certain death.

With heavy footsteps, I reach the stage.

"I volunteer as tribute."


End file.
